


Spanish Moss

by Pamela Rose (pamela_rose)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Post-Five Year Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamela_rose/pseuds/Pamela%20Rose
Summary: Leonard McCoy goes home after the  the five year mission.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	Spanish Moss

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Nome 4 (1981)

> _Let go, my darling, I can feel the night wind call.  
>  I guess I’d better go.  
>  I love you more than half as much  
>  As I loved your Spanish moss.  
>    
>  Spanish moss a’hanging down,  
>  Sweeter than the Southern love we found.  
>  Spanish moss keeps on following my thoughts around.  
>    
>  Georgia pine and Ripple wine,  
>  Kisses mixed with moonshine and red clay.  
>  Spanish moss, wish you knew what I was saying . . .  
>    
>  So I’m rolling over thinking  
>  Of the way things might have been,  
>  If she and I could’ve changed it all somehow . . .  
>  _
> 
> \--Gordon Lightfoot 

McCoy was tired. He knew the fatigue was more emotional than physical, but that didn’t seem to make much difference right now. Coming home didn’t mean the same any more, for this place had ceased being that many years ago. At this moment, all it did-was underline how very alone he felt. In spite of the nagging ache in his back and the tiredness in his legs from his long, self-imposed walk from the transport station, he stood in front of the house for a long time, wondering why he had bothered to come here at all. It was as empty as he felt inside, and the outside looked just as worn down.

The house was old, built shortly after the Eugenics Wars, and what little brick could be glimpsed through the encompassing ivy had faded to a dusty pink. It had been constructed with a romantic eye and modeled slightly after the ancient mansions of the old South, complete with the two-story white columns and white shutters at the long windows. A house with character a house built to last for generation after generation. A home for large families, created to keep dignity and purpose in life, without abandoning the past.

Deciding he wasn’t quite prepared to face going inside yet, McCoy put his bag down on the flagstone path and walked around the over-grown yard. He had paid a yearly maintenance fee, but the workers had obviously taken advantage of the fact that the owner was light years distant. The grass had gone to seed, and the wild vines were entangling the trees and overhanging the garden walls.

Seeing its shabby appearance, he experienced a twinge of guilt. He knew how his father and grandfather would have felt if they had seen how he’d let the old place run down.

He was the last McCoy to have strong memories of this old house. Johanna had been only a child, six or seven, when they had moved to an apartment inside the city so he could be closer to his work. At least, that had been the outward reason for the move; the unspoken reason was that Caroline wasn’t happy so far out of the hub of things. It had been too quiet a life for the beautiful, vivacious Caroline, and McCoy had been so engrossed in his work he had indulged her without even giving it much conscious thought. The move had heralded the be ginning of the end of their marriage.

McCoy sat down heavily on a stone bench on the untidy terrace. Dead leaves and brittle, grey branches lay at his feet. He kicked one aside angrily. _Perhaps, if I had refused to leave here_ , he thought sadly, _things would be very different now. I might not be alone_.

He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was useless to dwell on what might have been. His life was what he’d made of it, and he might as well start getting used to it again. The years in Starfleet had been an escape, and one that had worked rather well on the whole. There had been times on that ship, with Jim and Spock, when he had almost forgotten that he had nothing else, of at least it hadn’t seemed to matter as much. But that was finished. He had no reason to go back, not now. They wouldn’t be there, and it wouldn’t be home any more, either.

It was getting dark, but he was still in no hurry to go in. No one was waiting for him anyway, so it wouldn’t make any difference if he sat out here all night.

 _Maybe I should have come here when I first resigned_ , he mused, watching the fireflies glittering on the ragged lawn. _I shouldn’t have waited, I shouldn’t have tried to find something I threw away three years ago. How many chances did I think I deserved? Natira . . . it would have been so much easier if I’d never known . . . certainly it would’ve been easier to come back here._

He shook off the thought, unable to deal with it yet. It was too soon. He’d come home to rest, to lick his wounds, to try to figure out what—if anything—to do with the rest of his life. Somehow, he’d expected the mere fact of being here to help, like a magic cure, a retreat into the past. It wasn’t that . . . it was just an empty, run-down old house, much too big for one lonely man who was accustomed to the confining—and comforting—closeness of a starship.

McCoy looked up at the sky, but it was cloudy and he could see no stars. For some reason, he was relieved. That was another loss he must accept, although he never thought he would feel it so much. At times, the stars had seemed so cold in space, yet now his memories of them were warm.

From the stars his mind turned irresistibly to Spock, and the Vulcan’s own decision. He’d gone home, too, under a compulsion that was far stronger than anything McCoy had ever felt. It was still difficult to totally forgive what he had done to Jim, but the doctor could understand his reasons. Even if the Vulcan had been the catalyst that had scattered the trio, McCoy couldn’t really blame him anymore. It was easy to become frightened of feeling too much; McCoy knew that very well, and could sympathize far more than Spock realized. Certainly better than Jim could understand. Jim, the emotional giver, reflecting everything in those joyfully expressive eyes—never realizing how much he asked in return, or worrying about the consequences.

McCoy sighed and stood up, going to retrieve his suitcase. He opened the lock on the front door and entered. The interior was in slightly better condition than the outside; a little dusty, but livable. Glad that he’d remembered to have the power turned on before he’d arrived, he settled himself quickly—unpacking, locating the sheets and blankets, opening some of the windows to air out the rooms. When he’d finished, he took a quick shower and slipped on a robe. He went back downstairs barefoot; he hated the sound of footsteps echoing in an empty house.

Knowing there was no food in the kitchen, he wandered on into the study. He wasn’t hungry, anyway. For some reason he felt more comfortable in the study than in the rest of the house. It had been his father’s room, and his father’s before him, and he’d always thought of this as the heart of the house. He didn’t quite feel as if he belonged here, but it made him feel less of an intruder than the rest.

Moving automatically to the liquor cabinet, he poured himself a large whiskey. Surprisingly, the bottle was right where he’d left it nearly eleven years ago, ,when he’d cynically toasted the divorce and his new status as a free man in an empty house full of ghosts. The house was still empty, and the ghosts were still here, but he didn’t make a toast this time.

He sat down in the armchair by the window, and watched the dead leaves blowing against the panes of glass, trying not to think at all.

The next day, in spite of his hangover, he hired a housekeeper and arranged for repairs to the house. However, keeping busy didn’t prevent him from pausing by the videophone several times, feeling the urge to call Jim.

It had been nearly eight months since they’d seen each other, and it hadn’t been a very pleasant parting. There was a good possibility that Jim was still furious with him for going over his head to Starfleet Command. In spite of McCoy’s threats that he would fight Kirk’s promotion to a base command, the Captain hadn’t really believed he would do it; when he discovered that McCoy hadn’t been bluffing, their confrontation had been far worse than McCoy had imagined. Kirk had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that what he chose to do with his life was none of the doctor’s business It had been the bitterest fight they’d ever had, both of them stubborn and implacable. And, unlike arguments in the past, they’d had no time to resolve this one. Kirk had defiantly accepted Nogura’s offer the next day, and McCoy had taken the earliest transport out of the solar system. With no further communication between them, the rift had widened to an uncrossable channel. No matter how much McCoy wanted to talk to Jim now, his pride wouldn’t let him make the first move, especially since he still felt he’d been right.

As the days went by, McCoy realized he had to find some purpose for his life. Regular medical practice didn’t appeal to him for many reasons, the main one being that he didn’t want to deal with people right now. The idea of treating neurotic housewives, corporate ulcers, hypochondriacs, and other Earth-bound Humans left him cold. He had a practice once, before he joined Starfleet, and knew the deadly pattern it became. He knew what it could turn him into: an automaton dealing out pills and hypos. If he could be an old-fashioned GP, like his grandfather, that would be something else again—but there seemed to be no place for them in this time. If the basic problems of people hadn’t changed, their expectations of doctors had, and he didn’t want to fall into that rut.

The only spark of interest he could still dredge up was in research. He’d always enjoyed that, and had been more than fortunate with his results. Making his decision—almost out of desperation—he began to set up a laboratory in the house. However, when he requested research material on the area he planned to study, he ran up against a brick wall of bureaucracy. The material was classified, and it seemed no exceptions were granted to retired personnel. If there was anything that would get McCoy’s ire and interest aroused, it was that. In his opinion, it took a lot of nerve for them to tell him the information he’d helped to discover was off-limits, simply because he was no longer on active duty in Starfleet.

After he had given every clerk at Starfleet Headquarters enough headaches to last a lifetime and still hadn’t made any headway, a new thought occurred to him. There was one person who might be able to cut through this red tape and it would give him a much-needed opportunity to talk to Jim.

Instead of calling, McCoy decided to just go; he wanted to talk to James Kirk in person. Avoid ng the transporter, he caught a shuttle to San Francisco; it took a little longer, but it was less expensive, and he still retained an aversion to having his molecules scattered around.

Once at Starfleet Headquarters, he realized he didn’t know Kirk’s address. They had lost touch, and Jim could be almost anywhere on Earth and still be within commuting distance of Headquarters. He contacted Information and, after the usual hassle about who he was and what he wished to discuss with Admiral Kirk, he got the home address. It was within the city, near the ocean. A swanky apartment complex on the bay.

When McCoy arrived at the apartment, he pressed the door signal nervously, wondering if it would have been better to give Jim a little warning. A young girl answered the door. At least, that was McCoy’s impression at first glance, until he took a closer look and realized she was probably in her late twenties or early thirties. But the impression of youth and of innocence remained; she was as lovely as a butterfly or a wild deer, lithe and graceful, with enormous blue eyes. McCoy found himself smiling in response, in spite of himself.

“Yes? May I assist you?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I’m looking for James Kirk. Uh . . .” He found himself balking for a second on the title. _Admiral_ Kirk. I was told he lives here.”

“He does.” She glanced back into the room. “I’m afraid he is occupied at the moment. May I give him a message?”

“No, I want to talk to him myself.” McCoy’s smile faded, and he looked determined.

“Why don’t you contact his office?” she suggested.

“Because I don’t want to talk to his office.” His patience was fading, too.

“Do you have an appointment with the Admiral?”

“Damn appointments!” McCoy exploded. “Just let him know that Leonard McCoy came callin’, and if he ever gets any free time from his busy schedule—”

“Leonard McCoy?” Her eyes widened. “Wait, don’t go. You must be ‘Bones.’ Please come in. Jim will be so pleased to see you.”

McCoy hesitated, losing some of his steam, then stepped in. She led him to Jim’s library; a room lined with real bound books, a half-dozen of them scattered open across the furniture. She moved around picking them up, sliding them back onto the shelves. “He’s like a kid with books,” she explained apologetically, “picks one up, reads for a while, then lays it down and grabs another. I suppose, being used to only tapes, he likes—” She broke off and smiled at the doctor. “I guess you would understand.”

“Yeah, Jim was always something of a slob.”

“Not true,” she defended, laughing. “Only when he has someone to pick up after him.” She offered her hand. “I’m Lori Ciani. Jim and I have a one-year arrangement. He’s told me a lot about you, Doctor.

McCoy took her hand and held it warmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear about you until now. I’m afraid Jim and I . . . have been out of touch. He was probably afraid I’d steal you away from him.”

Dimples appeared in the perfect cheeks. “I can see the danger. I’d better get Jim before I succumb to your charm. He was in the shower.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Just wait until I tell him how you’ve flirted with me. What do you think he’ll say?”

A voice came from the doorway. “He would say that it had to be ‘Bones’ McCoy, and those Southern blue eyes have done it again.”

McCoy turned. Kirk was leaning against the door frame, grinning. He was dressed, but his hair was still damp from the shower. They both paused for a second, drinking in the sight of each other, then Jim moved forward and threw his arms around the doctor, hugging him enthusiastically. “Bones! I wondered when you’d show up. It’s so great to see you!”

McCoy pulled back and smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, Jim.”

“I take it you and Lori have introduced yourselves?”

“Yes, we have,” Lori put in, “and I’ll leave you two alone now. I know you have a lot to catch up on. I hope to see you later, Doctor.” She smiled at McCoy, blew a kiss at Kirk, and breezed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

“She’s a lovely girl,” McCoy commented absently, suddenly uncomfortable being alone with Kirk. It was difficult for either of them to know where to begin. “She told me you were marr—” _Oops, wrong word_ , he thought quickly. “Ah, that you had a one-year agreement?”

“Yeah . . .” Kirk grinned sheepishly. “I know that’s not your style, Bones. It was her idea. At first I would have preferred a more permanent arrangement, but—” He dropped his eyes. “I suppose she was right. She’s done a lot for me,” he continued awkwardly. “Helped me adjust. Well, you know how it is. It takes a while to get used to a different life style.”

McCoy nodded. “Yeah, I know how it is.”

Kirk squeezed the doctor’s shoulder, and led him to a chair. “Sit down. Tell me how you’ve been. Would you like a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’ve been doing okay. How about you?”

“Terrific. Feels good to lead a quiet life for once, without all that responsibility and pressure every day. Not that I don’t have a lot of responsibility in this job,” he added hastily, “it’s just . . . different. Not so immediate, or . . .” He trailed off as he took a seat across from McCoy.

McCoy surveyed him with a medical eye. He knew James Kirk too well, and it was easy to see that something was very wrong. For one thing, he had gained weight, and McCoy knew Kirk had a tendency to do that when he was upset or things weren’t going well for him emotionally. There was a clouded, haunted expression in the hazel eyes that worried McCoy even more.

Kirk hesitated, running his hand over his jaw in a gesture McCoy recognized well. It usually indicated that he was trying to phrase something just right. “Bones, I tried...to get in touch with you a couple of times. I couldn’t find you.”

“I was off-planet,” McCoy explained. “I just returned about a week ago.”

“Oh. Well, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for the way I acted. I went a little overboard . . . said some things I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right, Jim. Both of us are guilty of that.” It was McCoy’s turn to be hesitant.

“I only want to make sure everything worked out. Are you happy here? Is it what you expected?”

Kirk avoided his eyes. “Sure. I told you, it’s great. It’s about time I settled down and lived a normal life, isn’t it?”

“You know how I feel about that.”

“Don’t start!” Kirk snapped, then flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.... Bones, I don’t want to argue with you anymore. I did what I had to do. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay,” McCoy said carefully, studying Kirk. “I can see why you don’t want to discuss it. Have you heard from Spock, by any chance?”

Kirk’s eyes shot up to meet McCoy’s coldly. “You know damn well I haven’t. And that I won’t. Why did you ask?”

McCoy shrugged. “Stupidity, I guess. I just thought he might have changed his mind about . . . Never mind. Sorry.”

Kirk smiled wistfully. “If we go on apologizing to each other, we’ll never get anything said. What have you been up to? Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” the doctor evaded. “I’ve decided to do some research on the Fabrini medical texts. There’s an enormous amount of knowledge in them that hasn’t been deciphered and catalogued. Just as we discovered the cure for my disease, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of other answers still buried. The problem is that, since I’m no longer officially in Starfleet, the records are classified, and I can’t get to them. Don’t ask me the logic behind that brilliant decision. That’s one reason why I came here; I thought you might be able to help me out. If I take the time to fight through all the channels, it will take months, maybe years before they’ll release the information. I thought you might have a little more push.”

Kirk was silent for a moment, and McCoy wasn’t certain whether he was reluctant to get mixed up in the situation, or disappointed because the doctor had an ulterior motive for coming. By this time, Kirk was no doubt accustomed to being curried for favors. McCoy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t want Jim to think—

“Bones,” Kirk said slowly, cutting off his thoughts, “have you considered going to Yonada yourself? After all, you know you’d be welcome there, and you and Natira are married by their customs . . .” Kirk trailed off again as he saw McCoy stiffen.

“I went there right after I resigned,” McCoy said tonelessly. “Natira is dead. She died well over a year before I got there; virus of some kind. Without that blasted computer, they had no idea how to treat her. All that knowledge locked up in that—” He broke off and took a deep breath, attempting to calm the old feeling of helplessness. “I may not have been able to save her even if I’d been there. I don’t know. Anyway, I didn’t want to stay any longer. There was nothing for me there any more—maybe there never was.”

Kirk had no idea what to say. He fumbled for a moment. “I— I’m sorry, Bones. I didn’t know.” He reached out to touch the doctor’s arm, offering comfort. McCoy remained silent. After a time, Kirk pulled back, watching his friend’s solemn face worriedly. “I shouldn’t have asked you to leave Yonada, Bones. If there’s any blame, it’s on me. I guess I was being selfish. I wanted you with me.”

 _And then you ended up leaving me_ , McCoy thought wryly. But he only shook his head and said, “No, I wanted to come back to the ship. I suppose I made more of the whole situation than it really meant. A dying man’s last fling, so to speak.”

Kirk had known McCoy too long not to be able to read the unspoken reproof in the bright blue eyes. “You’re thinking that I deserted you by taking this land command, aren’t you? That I talked you into returning to the ship, into giving up a chance of happiness with Natira, and then I ran out on you.”

McCoy’s head jerked up angrily. “You think that was why I was so against you taking this promotion? Damn it, that had nothing to do with it! I knew it was wrong for you. That it would turn you into something you’re not. And it has, hasn’t it?”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed, almost daring McCoy to·continue. McCoy took the dare and plunged on, releasing some of the old pain and disappointment in the way things had turned out.

“Just look around, Jim! This place must cost you a fortune. Flash and show with material things was never your style before. But now I suppose you’ve got a position to maintain, people to impress. It all goes with the territory, doesn’t it? Including the girl!”

“That’s enough,” Kirk said in a voice that was dangerously quiet.

“No, it’s not enough. She’s just part of the package, isn’t she? Pretty, smart, charming . . .· The obligatory ‘Admiral’s lady.’ But just how much do you mean to each other? Would you have agreed to a ‘one-year arrangement” with Miramanee or Edith?”

It was like a slap in the face, and McCoy could see that it hurt Kirk deeply. Whether true or not, McCoy suddenly wondered why he was doing this to Jim. Was he trying to strike out at him because Jim had made some kind of adjustment to his life, for good or ill, and _he_ hadn’t?

Surprisingly, Kirk didn’t lose his temper. His jaw was set tightly and his eyes were cold, but he maintained his ·calm with grim determination. “I’m not going to fight with you, Bones. We’ve done enough of that already. But if you want to analyze somebody’s life, I suggest you look to yours, and leave mine alone.”

McCoy’s anger flared up again, for that hit too close to what he’d been trying to avoid—thinking about his own empty life. “Like Spock left you alone?” he snarled impulsively, before he could choke it back.

This time Kirk’s eyes blazed. “Leave Spock out of this!”

“It still hurts to talk about him, doesn’t it? Even hearing his name—”

Kirk made a quick sound of denial, and stood. He walked to the other side of the room, keeping his back to McCoy. “There’s simply no point in going over it again.· It’s over. We all have different lives now. I’d rather just forget it, okay?”

“The way he’s forgotten you?”

Kirk swung around to face him, and McCoy felt a sharp jab of guilt at the expression on Jim’s face. Sad, defeated older somehow. There was a wistful, almost pleading note in his voice. “What do you want from me, Bones? What do you want me to say?”

McCoy knew right then that he had to get out, that he couldn’t see Jim any more. Not for a while, at least. Almost helplessly he was taking out his loneliness and frustration on him—perhaps even unconsciously trying to punish Jim for needing Spock more than him. Misery loves company, but hurting Jim was just making them both more miserable. It wasn’t fair to either of them. _Not even to me_ , he thought sadly, _for when he looks at me I know he’s wishing it was Spock. No, I’m doing Jim an injustice. He doesn’t wish that, at least, not consciously. I’m just projecting that because, in a lot of ways, I do wish it was Spock sitting here instead of me._

McCoy stood and tried to smile. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Jim. I’m just being my usual difficult self. The eternal pessimist, spreading doom and gloom wherever I go. Don’t take my nasty comments to heart.”

Kirk relaxed a little, but still looked wary, as if expecting another blow any minute. He wasn’t fighting back, and that wasn’t like James Kirk either. It was as if his defenses were down and he was waiting to be kicked again—or wanting to be.

“I have to be going, Jim,” McCoy began uneasily. “Do you think you’ll be able to help me out on those tapes I need?”

Kirk seemed preoccupied. “What? Oh, I’m not sure. It might be difficult—”

“I understand,” McCoy cut in bitterly. “You don’t want to rock the boat. Well, it was just a thought. I’ll see you around.”

Kirk came out of his reverie with a start. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I think it would be better if I did.”

Kirk crossed quickly to where McCoy stood by the door, and reached out to touch ‘his shoulder. Then he dropped his hand, and his own shoulders slumped. “Bones, I’m really . . . If only . . . “ His gaze dropped to the floor. “I’ll try to get that information for you,” he said finally. He’d wanted to say something very different, but the words simply refused to come. Hazel eyes met blue ones, and held for a long moment.

“Thanks, Jim. Uh . . . take care of yourself, okay?”

“You, too, Bones.”

There didn’t seem to be anything left to say that wouldn’t hurt, so McCoy simply left. Almost absently, he went to the transporter station instead of taking the shuttle home. It didn’t make any difference to him suddenly. Whatever he’d expected to find in his visit to Jim, he hadn’t found it. Jim had changed; but then, so had he.

When McCoy reached his home, he went straight to the study and poured himself a stiff drink. Between gulps he tried to be honest with himself, and objective about his life. He couldn’t recall ever letting self-pity drag him down quite this far before. One fact was abundantly clear after the short conversation with Jim; he had to do something to get hold of himself, and soon.

When you start trying to drag other people into your misery, it was time for a change. But it was becoming increasingly hard to even care. After all, no one else did . . .

McCoy smiled wryly to himself at the thought. That was the whole basis of his self-pity in the first place, wasn’t it? There was no one who really gave a damn whether he pulled himself out of this depression, or sank deeper. He’d been alone for a very long time now; why had it never bothered him this badly before? Perhaps merely because he’d never slowed down long enough to let it catch up with him.

The obvious answer was to get involved again, to try to outrun the feeling. But his plan for research seemed temporarily scuttled, and he felt too apathetic to either fight city hall any longer, or seek something else that would interest him. He toyed with the thought of rejoining Starfleet, but dismissed it immediately. Just because it had worked for him once was no sign it would be the solution a second time—especially minus Jim and Spock and . . . And who else? Nearly ten years in Starfleet and just how many really close friends did he have? Scotty and he were occasional drinking buddies, but had little in common beyond that. Most of his free time had been spent with Jim, and, to a lesser extent, Spock. He’d lost touch with most of his old friends on Earth over the years and, strangely enough, he resisted the thought of contacting any of the ones he still knew. Their lives had split ten years ago, and none of them had really approved of his joining Starfleet.

McCoy leaned back farther in his chair, letting the smooth whiskey burn down his throat, waiting for the desired hazy numbing of his pain. He’d discovered that self-pity was more easily swallowed along with several raw shots of alcohol.

 _I have so many options_ , McCoy chuckled humorlessly to himself. _I could become a hermit, an alcoholic or kill myself. How can I make a decision? They’re all kind of appealing right now_.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his morbid thoughts. The door opened to admit the housekeeper he had hired. “Doctor McCoy?”

“Ms. Deren, I thought you’d gone home hours ago.”

“I was just about to leave when the bell rang,” she explained hesitantly. “Did you hear it?”

“No,” he replied, puzzled. He stood, wondering who the devil would be visiting him—unless Jim...? His face brightened. “Who is it?” he asked eagerly.

“She didn’t give her name. Just said she wanted to see you. I told her you were probably busy, but she insisted.”

“She?” Now McCoy was bewildered. “It’s all right. Tell the lady to come in. You can go home after you’ve shown the visitor to the study. And thank you, Ms. Deren.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

As the lady of the mystery stepped into the study, McCoy found himself totally speechless for one of the few times in his life. He was also grateful he’d been fortified by the liquor. She stood by the door, smiling, waiting for him to speak.

“Caroline,” he said finally, still surprised, but suddenly wary brings you here?”

“I expected a more cordial greeting than this, Len,” she retorted lightly. She moved to him gracefully and kissed his cheek. “I received a tape from Johanna. She told me you were coming home, and wanted me to stop by and see how you were getting on.”

McCoy gazed at her doubtfully. “Doesn’t sound much like Jo,” he commented dryly. “She was never overly concerned with her ol’ dad before. Why the sudden interest?”

She regarded him measuredly for a moment before answering. “Very well if you want the truth. I never could lie to you.” His eyebrows shot up at that, but he remained silent, waiting to hear her out. “It wasn’t Johanna’s idea, it was mine. I wanted to see you again.”

“Oh, really?” he said skeptically. “Why?”

“It’s been a long time, Leonard.”

“Sure has. So why now?”

She seemed both surprised and irritated by his skeptical reaction. “Well, for one thing,” she retorted· sharply, “you weren’t exactly in the neighborhood until now.” She smiled slightly and leaned a little closer, laying her hand on his arm. “Let’s not snip at each other, Len. Maybe I was just curious to see how you’ve changed. It has been over ten years since we last saw one another.”

He felt himself softening. She’d always had this effect on him, even at the end. It had been her choice to leave, not his. “Okay, Caro, sit down and I’ll get you a drink. Still gin and tonic?”

“You remember?” she asked with delight as she sat down on the couch.

“No lemon, right?” He handed her the glass, and sat down a safe distance away.

Seeing Caroline again had shaken him somewhat, and the fact that she’d changed very little compounded the problem. It was hard to forget the passion he had felt for her once. A lovely, fine-boned woman to begin with, she had aged gracefully. She was forty-five, he knew, but her appearance made her seem much younger. Her face was almost unlined, her hair was still a gorgeous shade of red, and he tried to avoid looking into the huge green eyes. She’d been a perfect Southern belle in an age when they were few and far between.

She’d also been spoiled, vain, indolent and temperamental. But he had seen her in the romantic light of youth and, strangely enough, their marriage had worked wonderfully for several years. McCoy had been happily indulgent with her, and she had been amazingly patient and cheerful with his increasing obsession with his work. They both had flaws—but McCoy’s one-track mind and stubbornness, and Caroline’s taste for extravagance, hadn’t seemed to matter at first. They’d loved each other very much in those first few years of marriage; McCoy would have sworn to that. And when Johanna was born, he was certain he had been the most ecstatic man in the galaxy.

But something had gone wrong somewhere. It had all fallen apart somehow, before he had even realized what was happening. To this day, he still wasn’t totally certain of the cause. Now, she looked so much like the woman he had loved and lived with for nine years, some of the old ache returned.

Caroline sipped her drink and observed him from beneath her long lashes. “You look older, Len.”

“I am older. And, hopefully, wiser.”

She ignored his sarcastic remark. “But you still have those wonderfully blue bedroom eyes.”

To his fury, he felt himself blushing. “Listen, Caroline,” he said quickly, “why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

“Maybe I don’t know what I want,” she said softly.

“That’s not unusual,” he replied gruffly. “That’s always been your problem.”

“You may be right,” she answered seriously. “Do you think there’s a chance I might have finally made up my mind?”

Her reply startled him; he hadn’t expected her to agree. “About what?” he asked vaguely.

“About all the years we’ve wasted.”

He stared at her. “If you mean what I think you mean . . . Well, isn’t this kind of sudden?”

“Ten years of regrets isn’t sudden, Leonard.”

McCoy stood and moved to the window, feeling shaky. Ten minutes ago he was depressed, alone, and a little afraid of the direction his life was taking. Now, if he could believe what he was hearing, he was being offered the chance to erase ten years and start over. It was a bit much to take in all at once.

He could feel her standing behind him, but he didn’t turn. A soft hand stroked the back of his neck. “Len, I can’t really blame you for still being hurt, but it was all a long time ago. A lot has changed.” She paused. “If you want me to leave, I will.”

With a flash of something that was almost panic, McCoy spun around and caught her shoulders. “No!” _Don’t leave me . . ._ He looked deep into her eyes, wanting so much to believe her and at the same time wondering if this was what he wanted at all. Maybe he was grasping at straws out of desperation. Or maybe he was so accustomed to being cynical, he found it difficult to trust anything anymore.

He shook his doubts away purposefully. He didn’t have much to lose by listening to her, in any case. “You don’t have to leave—unless you want to,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Caroline had watched the quick struggle in his eyes, and knew she had won. She leaned closer and stroked his cheek with the palm of her hand. “Poor Len, you’ve been very lonely, haven’t you? So have I.”

He pulled his head back, and a spark of cynicism returned. “You’ll excuse me if I find that a little hard to swallow. You’ve never been lonely over ten minutes in your whole life, Caroline.”

She jerked away angrily. “You don’t think I was lonely all those nights you were with that woman?!”

“Nancy and I were working together, and you know it. There was nothing between us—”

“That’s not what I heard!”

“Because it suited you to believe it at the time. We did see each other for a while—after the divorce. It didn’t work out; she married someone else . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to remember the results of that. “Anyway, you just used that as an excuse, a justification for what you wanted to do.”

“You were always working!” she snapped. “Your practice during the day was enough, why couldn’t you be satisfied with that? But, no, you had to be gone half the night doing some kind of crazy research. How much was I supposed to take? It got to the point where I saw more of the milkman than I did you!”

“Yes, I know,” McCoy replied sarcastically.

“How dare you!” she blazed, and slapped him hard.

To her amazement and fury, he merely grinned and rubbed his jaw. “I forgot about your red-haired temper—and your right cross. And how damned beautiful you look when you’re all riled up.” He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. She didn’t resist very much. When he finally released her, he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. “Well,” he drawled, “kinda looks like we’re right back where we left off—screeching at each other like a couple of banshees.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind when I came here,” she said softly. Then her chin jutted out stubbornly. “But I’m not sorry I hit you. You deserved it. I swear, Leonard McCoy, you can be the most provoking man, and I just know you do it on purpose half the time!”

“I’ve been told that. Well, you may not be quite as brilliant as my old sparring partner, but you sure are prettier.”

“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

“Never mind,” he chuckled. “Let’s just call a truce, okay?”

“Fine,” she smiled. “I never enjoyed arguing with you, anyway. You always had to have the last word.”

McCoy grinned at the memory that dredged up, then sobered again. “Listen, Caroline, are you really serious about this? I mean, trying to start over?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve had a long time to think about it. The time seemed right.”

“Your timing was great,” McCoy muttered, holding her tighter. It felt incredibly good to be holding someone. To have warmth and life, and maybe a future, instead of empty rooms and, memories. Suddenly he didn’t want to hear the answers to the thousand questions that kept springing up in his mind. He didn’t want to spoil this moment, or douse the flicker of hope that was building. His attention came back to what she was saying with a start.

“...call Johanna and tell her we’ve—”

He stiffened. “No. Not yet. Let’s give it some time first.”

“Not very optimistic, are you?” she asked dryly. “I almost think you don’t want this to work.”

“Just cautious. But what makes you say that?”

“Heavens, Leonard, what am I supposed to believe? You’re standing there preparing for the worst, I know you are. That’s not a very hopeful attitude.”

“Force of habit,” he replied slowly. “But I need—want this to work more than you can know.”

“But you don’t trust me?” she demanded huffily.

He looked away. “Let’s just say that the way my life’s been going . . . well, this sudden shift of fortune has me a little winded. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“Just relax and accept it,” she whispered huskily, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

* * *

McCoy woke and stretched in bed, feeling lazy and comfortable. The sun was filtering through the shutters,· and he realized it must be late morning. He felt too satisfied to worry about it. Caroline had let him sleep late again, and he might as well take advantage of it.

He smiled contentedly as he thought of her. Why had he ever convinced himself he’d stopped loving her? There was an old saying about first love being true love, and right now he didn’t think it was far wrong. Certainly, they had fallen back into an easy pattern of living together, almost as if the intervening years had been wiped clean. They still argued occasionally, but not seriously, and the making up made the spats seem almost worthwhile.

They had been together nearly three weeks now, and .McCoy was beginning to let himself believe it could work. Pessimism and caution be damned. It was possible to start again—you could go home again. In fact, he’d made up his mind to ask her to remarry him. No one- or two-year arrangement, but a lifetime commitment, such as they had had before. In some part of himself he’d always felt bound by that, divorce or no. He was not a man to make a vow easily—or break one. Now he felt the need to formalize it once more, to reaffirm the promises they’d both broken.

He got out of bed, feeling younger and more alive than he had in years, and went to the shower. A short while later, as he was dressing, he noticed the old clock on the mantle. It was later than he thought. Puzzled as to why Caroline hadn’t woken him earlier, he went downstairs quickly.

The door to the morning room was slightly ajar, and he could hear Caroline talking with someone on the videophone. Johanna, he thought, not completely displeased. It was time she was told, and he was a little relieved that Caroline hadn’t asked him to be there when she broke the news. McCoy wasn’t altogether sure how their daughter would take it. She’d resented the divorce, and blamed most of it on her father—especially after Caroline got custody, and he had joined Starfleet. He decided the best thing to do was to face it now.

But as McCoy reached out to pull the door open, he froze. Suddenly, bitterly, he was aware that Caroline wasn’t talking to Johanna at all.

“But, John, it’s simply not fair of you to ask this of me now. Why couldn’t you have just left me alone?”

McCoy’s voice hardened as a man’s voice answered, “This isn’t the first time we’ve had a fight, sweetheart. How was I to know you’d go running off to your ex-husband? You know I didn’t mean half the things I said.”

“You were so furious with me, I didn’t know what else to do! I’ve never seen you so angry. There was no reason for me to stay and listen to you curse at me!”

“Well, I’ve never seen those kinds of bills before, either! You must have charged half the—”

“You see? You’re still upset.” Her voice broke a little, and she sniffed. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m doing quite fine where I’m at, and you can just stop calling me up to badger me. I’ll—I’ll ask Leonard to pay those bills, if they bother you so much!”

Outside in the hall, McCoy sat down tiredly on a nearby chair, mind whirling sickeningly. One tiny, objective part of his brain felt like giggling at her last statement. It was so very characteristic of Caroline.

“Oh, baby, I’m not worried about the money.” John’s voice wafted into the hallway. McCoy felt the need to get away from it, but his legs seemed too weak to hold him. “I miss you, Carrie. Haven’t you missed me at all?”

“Y-Yes....” There was a catch in her voice. “I know I shouldn’t have run out like that, but...I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

“Of course I love you. Come on back, and we’ll get it all worked out. I’ll send a ground car for you—”

“Oh, John, how can I leave Leonard like this? He . . . he’s been very good to me. I don’t want to hurt him. How can I just walk out?”

“He walked out on you, didn’t he?” the man snarled. “Left you with a kid to raise while he went out and played space-doctor. You don’t have a damn thing to feel guilty about. I’ll send the car for you in about an hour.”

“You don’t understand—”

“All I want to understand is whether you’re coming with me or staying with him. Which is it going to be, Caroline?” His voice was impatient and demanding.

She was silent for a moment before she answered quietly, “I’ll be ready.”

“Good. I’ll see you in about an hour.”

McCoy heard her click off reception, but he sat still for a few more seconds, trying to gather his churning thoughts and quell the sudden nausea he felt. Then his mind cleared and his emotions chilled to a hard core. He stood and jerked open the door.

“Hadn’t you better start packing? You don’t have much time.”

She jumped, startled. “Len, I didn’t—”

“You know, it’s true,” he broke in, “eavesdroppers don’t always hear what they want to hear. But, look at it this way: you don’t have to break the news to me yourself now . . . or write a touching note. . . or were you just planning on disappearing, and letting me figure it out for myself?”

She turned away. “I was going to tell you. I wanted to explain.”

“You’ve only got about an hour to do it in, from what I heard, so you’d better start now. First of all, why did you come here? Was I the first patsy you could think of, or have all your other old boyfriends wised up?”

She whipped around. “It wasn’t like that!”

“It sure as hell looks that way. I don’t like being used; it goes against the grain for some reason. I was an idiot for believing anything you said. You’ve been a fickle little tease from the day you were born. Fool that I was, I was starting to trust you again. I even wanted to marry you again—or are you already married?”

“No.” She was crying now, but McCoy felt too cold inside to care.

“Obviously he’s smarter than me.” He started to turn away, but she called after him.

“Wait, Leonard, please. All right, when I first came here, maybe I was just using you. I knew you were home, and I didn’t know where else to go. You know how I hate being alone. I can’t stand it. It frightens me. I knew you would be kind to me, and I thought you would understand. I was going to tell you the truth, I swear I was. But after I saw you again, it was different. I wanted to stay. I wanted to make it work again. I . . . know you don’t believe me, but I do love you.”

“Just not enough to give up the good life with John.” McCoy was surprised to hear the bitterness in his tone. He’d thought he was too numb to feel bitter.

“I love John, I won’t lie about that. We’ve been together for two years, and he understands me more than you ever did. You always expected too much from me, Leonard. I always disappointed you. You had some private picture of what a perfect wife should be, and tried to fit me into it.” Her eyes met his steadily. “I simply don’t have it in me to be all the things you want me to be. We both know I wasn’t a very good mother to Johanna, and if I hadn’t used everything I could against you in court, you’d have gotten custody of her.”

He took a sharp breath at the re-opening of that old wound. “Why are you bringing that up now? You fought.me—” He broke off, steadying himself and trying to bury those memories before they smothered him. He’d wanted Johanna more than he could remember wanting anything, and when he had lost her, he couldn’t cope with the idea of having her torn between two bitter parents. He’d more or less bowed out, and had always wondered if he’d made the right decision.

“She would have had a better life with you, Leonard. More stable and certain. But I was too selfish to give her up. If I had been the woman you wanted me to be, I would have thought of her welfare first. You’ve never really been able to depend on me. I didn’t intend to hurt you like this, but I can’t change the way I am. John knows my faults and accepts them. That’s something you could never do.”

McCoy shut his eyes tightly, regaining control of his rage and pain and disillusionment. He suddenly understood Spock better than he ever had before. _God_ , he thought with anguish, if only I could run away to some place where bits and pieces of your heart aren’t clawed and scratched by people you let yourself care about. Spock is so right—not feeling anything can be preferable to feeling too much.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her, as if seeing her clearly for the first time. “You’re right,” he said softly, “you can’t help the way you are. You’ve lived your whole life as a clinging vine—or like Spanish moss. If you can’t get what you need one place, you either dry up and die or you find another tree that will give it to you. I guess even parasites have their uses. I think I was using you, too, Caroline. I needed someone . . . anyone . . . at that moment in my life, and it just happened to be you. So we’re even now.”

“Leonard, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to turn out like this.”

“You’d better get packed,” he said roughly. “You don’t have much time.”

She hesitated. “I’m really sorry.”

“Damn it, will you just leave!”

“I . . .. Goodbye.” she faltered, then left the room hurriedly.

He waited a moment, then went to the study. He poured a drink, downed it, and poured another. After a while he heard the low whine of a ground car pulling up in front of the house. His hand tightened on the glass, and he didn’t move another muscle until he heard it speed away. He noticed that his hand was shaking.

McCoy brought the decanter with him back to the armchair. He swallowed down the last gulp in the glass, then filled it again.

“Leonard.”

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Caroline? Did you come back?”

“You knew I would.”

She stood in the shadow and he couldn’t see her well. He tried to stand, but his legs felt like-rubber. I drank too much, he thought. That explained why everything was so vague and fuzzy. He wished he could see her better.

“I’m so glad you came back. I thought I was going to be alone again, and . . . I’m afraid of that, too. I don’t know if I could’ve stood that again.”

“You will not have to, McCoy. I am here.”

“Oh, no,” he whispered, covering his eyes with his hands as she stepped into the light. “It can’t be you! It can’t!”

It was Natira.

The crashing of the whiskey bottle on the floor woke McCoy. He stared down at the broken fragments almost blindly, attempting to get his bearings. The dream had been much more vivid than his foggy consciousness. Looking around vaguely, he noticed the morning light at the window. Obviously, he’d been drinking steadily all of yesterday and most of the night, but he could recall little about it. His head was still spinning, and the effects hadn’t worn off yet. His eyes were burning and his mouth was dry.

A soft knock on the door caused him to spill the remainder of the whiskey in the glass he had forgotten he was holding. The housekeeper stepped in, carrying a box. When she saw him, she stopped abruptly.

“Doctor, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I heard something breaking, and . . .” She trailed off as she took in the condition of the room, the broken liquor bottle, and the appearance of the doctor himself. His eyes were red, his hair mussed, his clothing stained and rumpled. “Are you all right, Doctor?” she asked uncertainly, setting the box on the floor.

He took a deep breath and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure. Just wonderful. What’s that?”

“Oh, this package came for you about a week ago, and when I noticed you hadn’t opened it, I thought you might have forgotten it.” She looked at him nervously. “I thought I’d bring it into your study.”

“Thank you, Ms. Deren. You may go now.” He made his way unsteadily to the liquor cabinet to locate another bottle.

“Doctor,” she said worriedly, “may I fix you some breakfast?”

“No. I’m not hungry.” He sloshed some brandy into an empty glass.

“You really should eat something.”

“I said, I’m not hungry!” he snapped.

“Yes, sir,” she replied doubtfully. “I’ll just clean up this glass—”

“Damn it all, woman! Can’t you just get the hell out and leave me alone?”

Her eyes widened at his tone, and she took an involuntary step back. She’d never seen him like this before. In the weeks she’d known him, she’d thought of the doctor as a most rare gentleman: kind, generous, always polite. A bit sad perhaps. She looked at him now, and shook her head sadly. Poor man. If only there were something she could do for him. It had to be that woman who had caused this. She’d known the first time that woman walked in that she’d be nothing but trouble. What a shame. And him a doctor and all. Still shaking I her head in dismay, she went out the door and shut it softly behind her.

McCoy raised the glass to his mouth, but his stomach rebelled at the odor and his throat tightened. His hand was shaking so badly the brandy was spilling over the sides. Then he realized that it wasn’t only his hand, but his entire body that was trembling. A sob fought its way out of his chest, but he took a quick breath and pushed it back.

Something was breaking inside him, but it was cracking slowly. He struggled with it, unwilling to give in and let go. He reached desperately for some inner core of anger so he could side-step the despair for a few more minutes.

With a hoarse curse, he pitched the glass against the wall, where it smashed and the amber liquid ran down the wood paneling in uneven streaks.

His gaze fell upon the box the housekeeper had left. Still searching for something to keep him from thinking, he stumbled over to it. Tearing it open with numb fingers, he stared dumbly at the stacks of tapes inside. Then he saw the note on top. It said quite simply: “Bones, if you need anything else, just let me know. Love, Jim.”

McCoy sat limply on the floor beside the box, forehead pressed against his pulled-up knees. “Good ol’ Jim,” he murmured, “I should have known you’d come through.”

The sob broke through this time, and he didn’t care. He didn’t have the strength to fight it any more. He wept brokenly, as a man who is unaccustomed to crying and doesn’t know how to release it. The depression and despair bore down heavily, smothering him, causing his breath to come in choking gasps. For a very long·time he did nothing to stem the tide of pain. His mind kept returning to what he’d said to Caroline about her being a parasite. _And am I much better?_ he considered darkly. _I hung on Jim and Spock’s friendship—more in the way than anything else. They didn’t need me. Spock certainly didn’t, and Jim . . . he made it abundantly clear that it was Spock who was most important._

Lifting his head at the thought, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and straightened out the crumpled note. That wasn’t completely true, and he knew it. He was important to Jim. Jim cared and in his own way, so did Spock. It wasn’t their fault they’d been caught up on a feeling for each other that was very special and very rare. They hadn’t asked for it, and Spock had even run from it, in the only way his Vulcan dignity allowed. He had been frightened of the intensity, while Jim had been shocked by its loss. Their relationship had never excluded McCoy. But it had never exactly included him either.

McCoy sat up straighter, his head clearing a little. A tiny strand of his sense of humor remained, and he suddenly found himself chuckling at the absurdity of it all. _Jesus_ , he thought, rubbing his face. _Just look at this middle-aged country doctor sitting in the middle of a hard-wood floor, half drunk, and making a damn fool out of himself._

“As far as that goes,” he whispered, “what good does it do to sit here and act pitiful, if there’s no one around to appreciate it? If I’m gonna feel sorry for myself, I can surely find a more comfortable place than this.”

He stood carefully and made his way to the kitchen, where he drank about a liter of juice. Feeling a bit stronger for that, he went upstairs, took a quick shower, and dropped into bed.

He slept soundly and dreamlessly until evening. When he awoke, he took another shower to help his headache and went back down to the kitchen, feeling nearly human again. He wolfed down a sandwich which almost came back up after the abuses his stomach had taken the night before, but he felt better once it decided to stay down. He wandered back to the study, and was amazed to see that it had been thoroughly cleaned; even the paneling had been scrubbed. The box of tapes was sitting on his desk.

“I’ll have to give that woman a raise,” he muttered to himself. “I didn’t think she’d be back after the way I barked at her.”

McCoy glanced around the room, feeling a little lost. He didn’t want to think about Caroline or Natira. Nor did he want to think about the ridiculous jealousy he’d felt over Jim’s non-existent betrayal. He didn’t want to think at all.

Almost from force of habit, he moved to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the brandy bottle and a glass. But, as he started to pour it, something stopped him.

 _Damn_! he thought with disgust, _I’m sick of feeling sorry for myself_. He stared down at the brandy, as if seeing it for the first time. And, if I want to commit suicide, he added, there are a lot quicker and less painful ways than drinking myself to death.

Suddenly, he was very sure that he didn’t want to die. He just wanted to stop the pain—and this wasn’t the way to do it. He glanced over to the box of tapes on the desk. It really wasn’t that difficult a choice once he got right down to it.

He put the stopper firmly back in the bottle.


End file.
